


Washington DC

by wildechilde17



Series: Starbucks and infants [3]
Category: Black Widow (Comics), Hawkeye (Comics), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Advent Calendar, F/M, Fluff and Smut, Porn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-10
Updated: 2016-12-10
Packaged: 2018-09-07 15:49:21
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 927
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8806900
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wildechilde17/pseuds/wildechilde17
Summary: Clintasha Advent Calendar Day Nine: Weather





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Tiziana](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tiziana/gifts), [Cinders](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cinders/gifts), [Crazy4Orcas](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Crazy4Orcas/gifts).



They begin in the rain and so must she, he supposes, much later when the terror stops and the living begins. She must have begun in the rain.

Clint Barton has spent his life looking for patterns. First in the moods of a disappointed alcoholic father then in the rules of homes he was forced on. He was best at looking for the patterns in the slight changes in grip, stance, breathing that grew exponentially as the arrow moved across the distance to the target.

He was good at patterns. It took him too long to see the pattern in her.

They begin in rain. A chance downpour and a howling wind coming off the Hudson, they end up at her apartment in little Ukraine. He doesn't question her stripping off her clothing when she enters. They lost all sense of modesty too long ago to question her standing in her own living room in a bra and panties. The water beaded on her chest and arms smear as she drags the clinging, translucent tshirt from her skin.

He doesn't think to question when she tells him to remove his shirt. He stands there bare chested sodden tshirt in hand making foolish assumptions about dryers and spare tshirts.

She kisses him roughly, it is awkward and unrehearsed. His teeth chatter against her lips for a moment before he finds himself enough to return her advance.

Her hair is heavy with water and it sticks to her skin as slides his hands up the curve of her neck. He can feel her begin to unbuckle her belt as he kisses across her mouth and down towards her neck.

He only says one word, "Natasha?"

She says only one word in response, "Yes."

She is pushing his jeans down over his hips. They are panting, twisting against each other, trying to find the places of friction on each other's damp skin.  Her hands are maddening, stroking at skin aching to be touched but yet not where he needs her hands to be most. He lifts her, sighing at the feeling of her thighs in his hands. He presses her back against the wall. She steers him into her. She clenches down on him and forces her face into the crook of his neck. His right hand lands hard above her on the wall. He thrusts upwards, her breath catches and slides back out of her.

It isn't perfect. There are no roses. There is no bed. There is no conversation. Natasha Romanoff smells of rain water and tastes like babka. Her mouth is hot and her fingers are anything but gentle and yet he knows that this is everything he has been missing.

She never speaks of it again.

In the next storm she is at his doorway, a rain hood obscuring her face. She kisses him like he is the key to something important. He lets her. He doesn't think he could ever deny her. She is gone before he wakes.

It rains all day and it takes him forever to get home from headquarters. He finds her curled up in his old t shirt in his bed. He wakes her and means to make her tell him what they have been doing. She kisses him, moans into his open mouth and swallows any words he had to speak with. 

It is too many times, too many nights spent with her hot and damp around him, not talking only doing before he sees the pattern.

The next rain he waits for her. She climbs his fire escape and this time they make it as far as his old brown couch before she is panting wettly in his ear, his fingers inside her and her shirt pulled up over her breast.

It begins to drive him mad. There are two Natasha's, his best friend and partner who he knows implicitly and trusts with his life and the girl in the rain who is a mystery to him.  He is beginning to realize he could not lose either one. 

She is always gone before he wakes and he knows one day the rain will stop.

It is a Saturday morning when he wakes to the sunshine cruelly forcing its way into his bedroom. He clamps his eyes shut and searches by feel for the boxers she had removed the night before. Once on, he staggers to the bathroom. His hearing aids are by the bed and his eyes are firmly closed and the world may well cease to exist.

In his bed, Natasha Romanoff curls into the warm empty space he vacated.

They began in rain.

And so, he supposes, did she.

A last night before separation, he to a classified mission and she to remain in DC as part of Rogers Strike team.  Her apartment is furnished in neutral tones and things that feel soft against his skin. They eat and talk and she kisses him. He does not question the lack of rain, he only notes the way she feels in his arms.

Natasha curls against him letting his hand slide between her legs. She throws her head back exposing her neck to the warm administrations of his mouth. He does not hear the thunder. His hearing aids rest on her bedside table. He sees the lightning. 

She begins in rain.

If he was of a poetic bent he might say that all rebirths begin in fire or in rain. If he was of a poetic bent he would say he was glad their miracle began in rain. 

 

**Author's Note:**

> Different storyline for this one, this one comes from the starbucks stories.


End file.
